I’ve spent the last hour walking faster than I generally run. I’m incredibly angry. It’s been suggested to me a few times recently that I should stop writing, that maybe by indulging in the blog I’m allowing myself to spend too much time in my head, and that’s making things worse. I’ve been thinking about this the entire time I was walking, and I’m starting to think that maybe these people are right.
I started the blog over two years ago now, purely as a therapeutic exercise. For a long time I had very few readers, and I was largely anonymous. But then the more that people began to read, the harder it became to stay anonymous. Suddenly, as well as being therapeutic, I was on a crusade – show the reality of living with mental illness, warts and all. Not the ‘I did xyz and now I’m better and more successful than ever before’ version that’s so often portrayed in the media, but my own version. I began to get feedback, the vast majority of it extremely positive and supportive with the occasional shitty troll comment thrown in for balance. I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but that felt really, really good – that people could identify with what I’d written, what I’d experienced. It became part of my identity. I wasn’t just Fiona the mam, or the wife, or the lowly admin, but Fiona the blogger, Fiona that people actually wanted to listen to. That’s been intoxicating. For the first time, I have something that is all of my own making, and nothing to do with anyone else.
But I wonder now if perhaps it has gone too far. Perhaps my well meaning advisers are right. Has it moved from being part of my identity, to all of it? If I take the blog away, if I take borderline away, what’s left? There was part of me that was actually beginning to believe I could make a difference, that I was special in some way. But I’m not. All I’m doing is airing my dirty laundry and waiting for people to come and pat me on the back and make me feel better about it. If I’m being completely honest, I’m also secretly hoping that maybe, just maybe, Therapist is occasionally reading and will decide to contact me off the back of something I’ve written. Is this all a massively self-indulgent naval gazing exercise? These are questions that only I can answer, and I don’t want anyone to come back and contradict me – that is 110% not why I’m writing this.
I think it’s a headsup. I’ve toyed with this before, but maybe it’s time for my blogging career to come to an end. There are countless wonderful blogs out there on exactly the same subject, any one of them would be worth reading. For those of you with bpd, I cannot recommend Life in a Bind highly enough, she’s wonderful. Psych Central list some of the best depression blogs out there. There’s no shortage of reading material.
I may do my standard 180 tomorrow. I may not. But seeing as therapy isn’t an option, I’m going to try the head in sand route. It might just work. It might just turn out that there’s nothing wrong with me at all, and that if I just stop thinking, everything will be absolutely fine.